The Poets and the Housewife (a Fable)

Once upon a time, on a summer’s day, two poets, having shut up shop, went out into the country to collect copy, for their stock of this commodity was exhausted.

And they were careful to dress themselves carelessly: one put on a black collar and black-and-white checked trousers, and the other a cravat of raging scarlet, “for” they thought (though they did not say so) “we must dress the part”. And their hats were wide and reckless and the hair beneath their hats was like the thatch upon a broad-eaved barn.

And as they journeyed, poking about with their walking sticks after the precious substance of their quest, there gathered over their heads the devil of a storm.

And at the proper moment the storm burst and the rain came down and the poets left off seeking for copy and huddled under a hawthorn tree. And they appeared as two proud exotic birds, lighted down from the Lord knows where.

And there was a lodge near the hawthorn tree, and the lodge-keeper’s wife looked out and, seeing the two, she exclaimed: “Lord, look what the wet brings out!” And the rain increased fearfully.

And after a while she looked out again and the poets were changed, for their bloom was impaired, the rain had clotted their hair, and the scarlet cravat of the one had become crimson from saturation. And rain dripped from all their extremities.

And the lodgekeeper’s wife was grieved for them and called out: “Young men, will you not come in? Why play the heron who stands lugubrious with his feet in cold water when it is open to you to become as sparrows twittering with gladness beneath the eaves?”

But they bowed politely and replied: “Thanks awfully, ma’am, but we are poets and we like it.”

And the lodgekeeper’s wife was riled and sneered at them, remarking: “They have certainly had a drop too much.” But they, smiling deprecatingly upon her, responded: “Madam, you are pleased to be dry.” “And you,” quoth she, “are pleased to be wet.” And she slammed-to the window, casting up her eyes and inquiring rhetorically, “Did you ever?” and “What next?”

And the rain came down like hell, leaping a foot high and sousing all things.

And after another while, the lodgekeeper’s wife looked out again, and the two had gathered closer about the trunk of the hawthorn-tree, and they were as two old crows, for their shoulders were up and their beaks were down and they were unbelievably dishevelled.

And she shouted to them again, for she was a charitable woman, saying: “O miserable gentlemen, in the name of civilization and commonsense, come inside.”

But they dared not turn their faces to her, lest the water should run down their necks: so, revolving themselves all of a piece, they replied: “Renewed thanks, ma’am, but we are very well, for we are acquiring copy.” And they cowered under the deluge with great earnestness of purpose.

But the lodgekeeper’s wife did not understand the word copy, so that she was amazed beyond measure and the power of comment was taken from her.

And the storm, having stormed itself out, abated: and the place was bathed in delicious smells of breathing leaves, and the warm sweetness of hawthorn perfumed the air.

And the lodgekeeper’s wife looked out from the window a fourth and last time, and the poets were in the act of departure. And the tragedy of their appearance was beyond all comparing. For the scarlet of the cravat of one had run down into the bosom of his shirt, so that he was, as it were, a robin-redbreast. And both were soaked to the uttermost.

And when those poets were returned home, the one found that he had lost a shirt and the other that he had gained a cold. Therefore the one went out and bought a new shirt at seven and six and dear at that, and the other got himself a shilling bottle of Ammoniated Quinine[8] which was tolerably cheap considering.

And the one wrote an ode called Midsummer Storm for which he obtained five guineas, so that (deducting fourpence for stamps and seven and six for the shirt) his net profit was four pounds seventeen and twopence.

But the other could only manage a one-guinea sonnet called Rain Among Leaves, so that (deducting fourpence for stamps and a shilling for the quinine) his net profit was nineteen and eightpence.

Thus the two acquired great store of copy (more, indeed, than they bargained for) and the sum of five pounds sixteen shillings and tenpence thrown in.

But the wife of the lodgekeeper knew nothing of all this, so that she still believes, like many another ill-informed person, that poets are nothing more than unpractical dreamers.

1. Dwell on the title of the short story. What functions does it perform?

2. Regard the subtitle — A Fable. What is a fable? Which features of this genre can you point out in the story? In what way is it different from a traditional fable?

3. Analyze the choice of words in the text. How can you characterize such words as quoth, cravat, to abate? Point out some more examples of words which help to imitate the style of the fable.

4. Have a closer look at the syntactic structure of the sentences. Many of them begin with And… or But…. What effect does this constant repetition produce?

5. In what way are the characters opposed? Can the two poets and the lodgekeeper’s wife be regarded as foils? How does the opposition help to disclose the main idea of the story? Give your reasoning.

15.

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